Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  Kingfish flight acknowledged.

  Towering cumulus clouds lay to the north and south of their flight path; far ahead they were clumped close together. Poets enjoy the romantic beauty of plump, rounded clouds. Pilots do not, for cumulus clouds spell thunderstorm and can spit out hailstones the size of baseballs. These can either be ingested and cause a jet engine to flame out or simply beat the aircraft to pieces. A cloud in which a mountain is hidden is appropriately called a "hard cloud." Combat pilots do not like clouds because they limit visibility and hide such things as surface-to-air missiles and MiG's.

  Benny looked with increasing apprehension at bank after bank of cumulus clouds that lay in their path.

  The large, mountainous, sparsely populated area of North Vietnam that stretched from the Laotian border to the Red River was designated as pack five, which they had to cross to get to the pack six targets. In the westernmost part of pack five lay the village and airport of the infamous Dien Bien Phu. The Thud pilots called it "Dee Bee Pee." Sixty-five miles east-south-east of Dee Bee Pee was Na San, another small town and airfield built by the French.

  The F-105's passed six miles south of Na San, and they could see the badly cratered runway, made unusable by earlier bombing raids.

  Dense teak forests grew in all directions, covering steep mountainsides. Periodically they flew past karsts—barren, jagged sandstone hills honeycombed with caves. The rugged terrain and dense jungle hosted few visible villages, although they were briefed that tribes inhabited clusters of straw huts there. Tigers and jungle bears roamed the areas over which they flew, cobras and pythons slithered, and monkeys and exotic birds inhabited the trees. Now and then they passed over valleys with cleared farmland, or small plantations with rubber trees planted in neat rows. From one farm, Benny saw muzzle flashes, perhaps from a gutsy farmer who resented the noisy intrusion. A shotgun? he wondered. The fighters were passing more than two miles over the farmer's head.

  He checked to ensure the radar warning equipment was indeed turned on, since it had thus far been silent.

  He searched for Phillips and his Hawk flight on his radar. He finally saw a momentary blip at twenty-two miles, but the radar refused to lock on.

  As they grew closer to the Red River, Benny's adrenaline began to pump faster. He methodically focused his eyes at varying distances in the sky around the aircraft, down at the ground, then inside the cockpit for a quick sweep of the tapes and gauges. It was a regimen he practiced, training his eyes to wander in that pattern.

  Look for MiG's and friendly aircraft for a mental count of ten, a count of two for ground targets, a count of three for the cockpit. Make each observation count by taking your time. Keep your head moving, eyes slowly sweeping, and don't stare unless there's something to stare at.

  In the sky, look for motion and shapes and glints of sunlight off aluminum and canopies. On the ground, observe the terrain and features you are passing over. Look for landmarks, drifting smoke, and oddities. In the cockpit look at the flight instruments by searching for exception, ensuring things are as safe and normal as you want them.

  For all three regimes of vision, look for what's wrong, and don't waste time with the things that are right.

  Benny's Doppler navigation system showed twenty-four miles to the turn-point at the Red River when Phillips made his radio call.

  "Falcon lead, Hawk is at the dog pecker. We have about five-eighths cloud coverage. One big cumulus cloud is just to the south of the turn-point, so cross the Red River five or six miles north of the planned route."

  Colonel Mack responded quickly. "This is Falcon, Hawk. Can you tell anything about the target area weather yet?"

  "Not yet. There's a . . . Hawk flight, we have a valid SAM launch at our three o'clock!"

  "I've got a visual on the SAM!" The caller did not identify himself, but his voice trembled with emotion.

  Phillips again. "Hawks, prepare for a SAM break."

  "The SAM is getting close!" The pilot making the call still did not identify himself.

  Phillips again, irritation in his voice. "Okay, Hawks. Ready . . . ready . . . break!"

  The radio was silent for a moment.

  Phillips came back on the radio, grunting under the strain of heavy g-forces as he called back to the strike force. "Gentlemen, there's a SAM site right in the area we predicted, just west of the ridge. You're going to be in his range when you cross the valley and as you approach the ridge. We're going to try to get a missile off at him." Harsh breathing sounds over the radio. "Damn! He's turned his radar off. Falcon, watch out for him when you come by."

  "Roger, Hawk lead," said Colonel Mack.

  Benny visually checked that his flight was in proper formation as they crossed the Red River five miles north of course.

  A chatter erupted on the radar warning equipment. A three-ringer strobe denoted a strong tracking signal from a Firecan, the radar used with antiaircraft artillery.

  "Kingfish, expect flak. We've got a tracking Firecan." Benny saw flashes of light a few miles ahead on the ground. "Keep it moving, Kingfish," he called.

  His pilots were weaving and turning their fighters in random patterns as they began to cross the pancake-flat valley. Several symmetrical patterns of dark flak bursts erupted around the flight. Patterns of fours and sixes.

  "Kingfish, let's turn on our music," said Benny.

  The flight responded, advising that their ECM jamming pods were on. A yellow fault light told Benny that his own pod was not working. He would receive no help from that source.

  He heard the rattler sound and saw the flickering strobe on the radar warning equipment. It as weak, a one-ringer. "We've got SAM activity, Kingfish," said Benny.

  "Eagle flight, the SAM's tracking us. We've got a launch, babes." It was Mike Murphy.

  "Eagles, I've got a good visual on two missiles." Again, Murphy's voice. "Let's wait, babes. Let's wait." Mike was calm, talking to his flight, making them wait until the missiles were too close to respond to their maneuver.

  "Let's take it down, Eagles." Murphy said, his voice rising.

  Benny strained, looking back to get a visual sighting on the missiles. He saw two aircraft from Eagle flight diving toward the ground in their evasive maneuvers.

  "Keep your energy up, Eagles," called Murphy, telling his flight to keep their throttles pushed forward. "We're clear of the SAMs, but look out for flak."

  A string of three brilliant orange and black explosions went off harmlessly behind and left of Kingfish flight. The SAMs had missed their targets.

  But the flak did not.

  "Shit," came a lonesome call over the radio.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep." The sound told them that a parachute had opened, activating its emergency beeper on the emergency Guard channel.

  "Eagle three is down!" called Murphy over the air.

  Eagle three was Tommy Larkins, one of the old heads.

  Colonel Mack's voice. "This is Falcon lead. We can't help him here. Mark his position and press on, Eagle."

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ." The sound of the emergency beacon was shrill and haunting.

  "This is Eagle four. I think I see the chute."

  "Join back in formation, four," said Murphy.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  Phillips's radio call was faint, difficult to hear over the sound of the emergency beeper. "Hawk flight, missiles away." Benny assumed Phillips was firing at one of the Hanoi SAM sites.

  Then, "Hawk lead, we got a MiG at our seven o'clock, close! Break left!" Tiny Bechler's voice sounded guttural as he pulled g's.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  Colonel Mack's voice on the Guard channel. "Eagle three, this is Falcon lead. If you can read me, turn off your beeper."

  "Weeep, weeep." The beeper shut off. The sudden quiet on the radio was almost as unnerving as the racket had been.

  Another SAM radar was swinging its tracking beam through the sky, this one from the ta
rget area. The strobe on Benny's equipment went from one to two, then to three rings, pointing toward his eleven o'clock position. The radar receiver chattered like a rattlesnake. The SAM radar was tracking his flight.

  "Kingfish, let's be on the lookout for SAMs, eleven o'clock," said Benny, trying hard to keep his voice even.

  "This is Kingfish three. I've got a steady SAM launch light."

  The SAMs were targeted on Mike Ralston!

  In the distance Benny saw a missile, tiny in perspective, tail aglow against the dark. "I've got a visual on the SAM, Mike. It's at your twelve o'clock."

  "Roger, Kingfish lead. I don't see it." Ralston's voice, while excited, was not panicked. Good man, Benny thought.

  "Kingfish three, go afterburner and get your energy level up, and turn left about forty-five degrees. Don't break until it gets closer."

  "Three."

  Benny felt his admiration for Ralston grow as his instructions were quickly followed. "You'll be pulling sharply up and toward the missiles, Kingfish three."

  A second missile appeared in the distant gloom, then yet another, all with that bead of fire at their tails.

  "I still don't see the SAMs, lead," radioed Ralston. "You call it."

  "Prepare to maneuver, three. You'll be breaking up and to your right in a few seconds," called Benny.

  "Roger, Kingfish lead." Ralston rolled his aircraft to the right, still in afterburner, nose slightly down in a shallow dive to pick up airspeed.

  "That's it," whispered Benny. "Build up your energy for the maneuver." He was staring at the SAMs.

  One by one the SAMs' booster sections dropped away, still trailing fire. The liquid-fueled sustainer rockets ignited and the three SAMs lurched forward, propelled to incredible speeds in excess of Mach three, all flying in perfectly symmetrical echelon.

  They were closing fast on Ralston. It was time!

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  "Break now, three!"

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  An emergency beeper had been turned on at the critical instant, masking Benny's radio call.

  Ralston had rolled his aircraft over just a bit more, but he was not maneuvering.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  "Kingfish three, break!" shouted Benny into the mike.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ."

  Mike Ralston either heard him or saw the missiles at the last moment, for the nose of his aircraft started upward, but not nearly in time. The first missile detonated less than a hundred feet from the big fighter. The edge of the explosion scarcely touched the Thud but thousands of fragments showered through the fighter's fuselage.

  The aircraft was still flying.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep, weeep . . ." The lonesome beeper continued.

  The second missile copied the flight path of the first, but failed to detonate until it was beyond Ralston. The third SAM exploded closer yet to Kingfish three, bright orange momentarily enveloping the aircraft. Again, Benny knew the shards of metal had torn through the aircraft, shredding metal and flesh.

  "Weeep, weeep, weeep." The beeper was again turned off. Benny watched Ralston's airplane continue to soar.

  "Kingfish three," he called in a leaden tone, knowing Ralston was dead.

  Phillips's voice sounded over the radio. "Falcon lead, this is Hawk. Target area visibility is clear. There are clouds to the north and south, but the target is clear."

  "Roger, Hawk. Did the rest of you get that transmission?"

  "Swift flight reads loud and clear," replied Sam Hall.

  "Crane lead copies," Jimbo Smith said.

  "Eagle reads you," said Mike Murphy.

  Benny watched Ralston's aircraft as it began to nose over.

  "Kingfish three?" he called once more.

  The Thunderchief, containing the body of Maj. Mike Ralston, slowly nosed over and plummeted earthward.

  "Kingfish lead, this is Falcon lead. Did you copy Hawk's radio transmission?" It was Colonel Mack's voice.

  Benny's voice wavered, "Repeat for Kingfish."

  "Weather over the target area is acceptable. The mission is go."

  Benny blew out a long breath as he watched Kingfish three smash into a knoll at the base of Thud Ridge.

  "Roger, sir. Understand it's a go," he finally answered.

  Benny's left hand trembled on the throttle. "Fuck!" he muttered.

  "What's your position, Kingfish four?" he asked of Ralston's wingman.

  "I'm at your nine o'clock and have you in sight."

  "Come up on my left, four. We' ll start our climb in about twenty seconds."

  Benny tried to get the sight of Ralston's Thud out of his mind. Jesus, he thought. The damned airplane just kept flying like nothing was wrong. Like a ghost was flying it.

  He crossed the ridge at the peak he had preselected.

  "Kingfish, we're at the offset point." He selected afterburner and started his climb. "Kingfish lead is going into the pop-up."

  "Two."

  "Four."

  The three fighters climbed toward their roll-in altitude.

  "Kingfish lead is through ten thousand feet," he called.

  He could see the rail siding clearly, beyond the foothills and to his right. "Target is in sight," he called. "I can see fifteen or twenty railcars on the siding."

  "SAMs!" called someone in the flight, for there was suddenly a three-ring rattlesnake signal accompanied by a squeal and a bright LAUNCH light.

  He scanned, saw smoke and dust from missile firings, then saw the missiles. "We've got SAMs at three o'clock, Kingfish," Benny called.

  "Hawk flight, go to trail formation," Phillips cried out. "I've got a visual on the site and we're going in for a bomb delivery."

  The SAM boosters were dropping off. The sustainers propelled the missiles sharply forward, toward Benny's Kingfish flight.

  Benny clenched his teeth. "Kingfish is approaching twelve thousand feet. Get ready, Kingfish."

  "Two."

  "Four."

  Benny rolled his aircraft sharply over and into a forty-five-degree dive-bomb. It was unlikely the SAMs would be able to maneuver with him during the delivery, but he yanked the stick abruptly to the left, then to the right to add to the tracking problem of the SAM operators.

  "Kingfish flight's in!" he announced.

  Benny searched the ground for muzzle flashes. That proved to be an easy task, for the earth below was winking brightly as the big guns fired at his flight. "The guns are on all sides of the target, Kingfish. Let's release high for maximum coverage."

  The flak became intense, scores of black bursts flashing and blossoming about the flight. He adjusted his dive angle slightly to concentrate on the area immediately north of the target, the source of the majority of flashes. "Kingfish lead is taking the north side," he called.

  He pickled at 8,000 feet, then felt a slight jar as the four CBU-24's were released. The clamshell shapes would spin through the air, then open and spew out hundreds of grenade–like cluster bomblets. He began his pullout.

  "Kingfish, let's pull off to the southeast," he told the flight.

  "Break it off, Hawks! We've got multiple SAM launches from two sites. We'll be going down and left," Phillips's voice said.

  "Falcon is into the dive," said Colonel Mack.

  "Falcon lead, they're shooting like hell down there."

  "They're supposed to shoot down there," quipped Colonel Mack.

  Red streaks rose in crazy sheets, trying to track Benny's Thud.

  "Swift is rollin' in," Sam Hall drawled a few seconds later, his voice steady.

  Benny was clear of the target, climbing eastward through intense clusters of flak, when his aircraft bucked wildly. He was hit! He checked. No emergency lights, all instruments seemed normal, and he was still climbing. He rolled his aircraft to the right, looking back at the target. Sparkles danced about the north side of the rail yard, his CBUs detonating. More sparkles to the east, then to the west sides of the
target as those of his wingmen struck the ground. He rolled and jinked left.

  Falcon flight's bombs impacted into the railcars on the side of the railroad siding nearest the loading ramps. The heavy cars were tossed like toys.

  "Crane flight is in," called Jimbo Smith.

  A Firecan triple-A radar rattled and showed two rings. Benny ignored it, banked, and looked left, then saw a Thud drawing closer. Kingfish four was joining up.

  "Eagle flight is rolling in." The voice was Mike Murphy's.

  "Swift four is hit!" was followed by a hiss of static.

  "Four, dump your bombs and pull out." Sam's Southern drawl became more noticeable in tense situations. He was answered by the loud hiss.

  "This is Swift two. I just saw two MiG-17's east of the target area."

  "Falcon lead is off to the west," Colonel Mack radioed. "Swift two, what's the position on the MiG's?"

  Swift two's transmission was garbled due to the g-forces of his pullout.

  "Swift lead is off the target to the east," called Sam Hall. "I got Swift four in sight, and I'll join up with him. You hear that, four?"

  Static answered him. Swift four could receive but not transmit on his radio.

  "You hang in there, four. They don't make 'em mean enough to take on both of us."

  Smith called, "Crane lead is off the target to the north."

  Benny worried about the remnants of his own flight. He looked hard, but could only see number four, now flying formation on his left wing.

  "Kingfish two, say your position."

  "Kingfish two's at your six o'clock, lead. I'm in trail."

  "Crane lead is off the target to the north," Jimbo Smith called.

  "Kingfish lead, we've got a MiG at our eight o'clock, low!"

  Benny jerked his head to his left, and scanned the sky beneath them, and finally saw a MiG-17, wing up and in a slow turn. It was at their nine o'clock, traveling toward their eleven o'clock and Kep airfield. The MiG was less than three miles distant.

  "Set up for Guns–Air, Kingfish," He double-checked his own WEAPONS SELECT switch, confirming it was in the proper position. The Gatling gun should be ready and the sight preset. He continued his hard turn to cut off the MiG, and wished to hell he was carrying AIM-9 heat-seeking missiles. Headquarters picked their ordnance loads and often gave air-to-air missiles only to the F-4 units.